


In A Far Off Kingdom

by CreamMoon



Category: Merlin (TV), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:18:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6891733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreamMoon/pseuds/CreamMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some stories are not just stories. Some stories are real.</p><p>Anna knows this, history is evidence enough. The stories in her storybook are no different.</p><p>Her mother wants her to believe otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Crippled Coward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lefuulei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefuulei/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Differently angled fusion of OUATxMerlin than Time Is All I Have that was spawned from lengthy talks with merlin-bunny.
> 
> This is her fault. I am washing my hands of responsibility.

It goes like this:

The Wyvern Wars are started by fools, who die and leave others to reap the results of their meddling.

People fight, people die.

Rumpelstiltskin fears what comes next, hiding in the thick forests of his wife's people, shielding their son from the blight that takes the form of their King and his unyielding draft.

They're found anyway, on the road as they come back with supplies.

The men have a sorcerer in tow. They think he'll let them have his son just for that.

He wished he had the gift like his boy did, he'd kill them all in a blink. He does not.

He makes do.

Mordred knocks them to the ground, the men pinned beneath their horses, the sorcerer unaffected and brandishing a knife as he advances.

Crippled he might be but his staff will make a fine club.

He strikes the sorcerer across the face, he stumbles strangely.

He drops the knife.

With speed unknown to him Rumpelstiltskin finds it in the dirt, falling atop the sorcerer, plunging it into his chest.

The sorcerer is so, so pleased.

He thanks Rumpelstiltskin as he disintegrates into naught, the hilt of the dagger feeling like fire in the peasant's palm.

Mordred screams.

When he's awake again he grabs the boy by the shoulder and pulls him tight against his stomach, letting him bury his face there as his father waves a hand, the men and horses disappearing into the aether.

Power thrums in his veins.

He takes his boy home, putting him to bed.

Nimueh does not return that evening. Nor the next.

Rumpelstiltskin doesn't search for her. He knows she's gone where he cannot follow.

The cacophony around him cannot blot out his son. He must tend to his son. He will stop the war.

He banishes the Wyverns. He brings the children back from war.

He kills the King, scours all that his kingdom is and leaves only rubble.

He will build something better. Find someone to fill the gaping hole he left.

It stops mattering when Mordred goes where he cannot follow. Somewhere he won't.

It begins to become a game.


	2. The Ragged Heir

Hunith is a princess.

At least that is what she is told. She is a princess that lives in a hut, who helps her Father gather wheat and her Mother to feed the animals. She is a good girl. She hopes that is all a princess needs to be.

Hunith is a princess.

At least that is what she is told. She is a princess that tills the fields and goes into town when her Mother cannot manage the trek. Her Mother tells her stories of her Father's kingdom, how her Grandfather had done unspeakable things and paid for it, and how her Father had wanted terribly to make the wrongs right. That he had devoted his life to doing right, Goddess rest his soul. Hunith is a good girl. She hopes that is all a princess needs to be.

Hunith is a princess.

At least that is what she was told. She is a princess that does her best to help, moving from town to town in search of good work. She gives away all she can to those who cannot, and she hopes that somewhere her Mother and Father can still see how good she's being. She hopes they're proud.

Hunith is a princess.

At least that is what she was told, many years ago. She is more often called a Knight of The People by those who know her name, surprising her every time despite the growing frequency that she hears it. She learned to wield a sword from practicality, adding a skill to the long list she could now ply to those looking for aid. She finds it employed often, but she has hopes that when she moves on perhaps there is more sewing to do than fighting.

Hunith is a princess.

For the first time she feels like that might be true, dressed in Northern finery and sitting at a Lord's table, the party filled with many she can barely believe she is able to call friend. Vivienne grips her arm, smiling and pointing to a man across the hall. He's lanky and his beard is short, his blue eyes striking even so far away. Even for his strangeness he is beautiful, and Hunith's heart picks up speed. Vivienne calls him a Dragonlord. She says he hopes to find a wife.

Hunith is a princess.

Her husband is a Dragonlord, a man with a wild heart and a beautiful laugh. He takes her home, introduces her to his large family. His seven sisters are wonderful and welcoming, and his parents warm her heart in a way she thought forgotten. The Dragonkin welcome her with open arms and she hopes she can repay them.

Hunith is a princess.

Her son is a prince, at least she thinks he must be. Royalty of a kingdom long gone, but not forgotten. Balinor says that he'll be important no matter what, but even without magic she knows her boy would be. Merlin is her miracle, her everything, and she could not be happier. She hopes for the world for him.

Hunith is a princess.

It doesn't matter, her life in shambles, her babe strapped against her breast. The screams of both man and dragon are deafening as their home is laid siege to, Hunith picking her way through quietly and quickly. They'd all gone to fight. She knows to run. Balinor had kissed her and their son goodbye. She didn't need to be told twice.

Hunith is a mother.

Merlin is her son. They live a simple, wonderful life in Ealdor. She tells him of a wicked King, a wonderful Prince and his wife, and a beautiful Dragonlord. She doesn't tell him who they are, or why she knows of them. The less known the better. Knowing there is an empty space only brings pain, Hunith knows. She hopes Merlin will never see the empty spaces.

Hunith is only human.

She fears the looks from their neighbors, the rumors of the unrest in the East. Her instincts scream for her to move on, run away, hide, but she is too old for such things, too weary to pick up and leave. She knows what the unrest means. She sees the writing on the wall. She sends Merlin away to where the draft cannot reach, and she hopes that her gambit does not cost her son his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the writing pattern didn't get tiring, for whatever reason I really liked it :x


	3. Gemini's Destruction

Uther and Aurelianus are twins. They are never apart.

Their nursemaid makes sure of this. Constans is the only one allowed to roam about unassailed by her grabbing hands and sharp tongue. Constans is four years older, and because of that, Uther thinks, he doesn't like either of them.

Aurelianus seems to agree. They always agree.

They're two halves of one whole, Uther thinks.

He's sure that is why the Gods made them this way. They should've simply been one man.

One day Aurelianus tells him that Constans is to go away. Uther is glad for this, as their elder brother, of course, doesn't like either of them.

Aurelianus says they're to go home without him. That he is going to a convent and that Aurelianus is to begin to train in his stead for Kingship.

Uther is glad for this as well. They are alike of mind, so he would gladly be ruled by his twin. There is no doubt in him that Aurelianus will be a wonderful King.

Constans thinks not.

Three days later they are out in the market, Uther picking around the peasantry and colorful merchants as Aurelianus leads the way, as usual disinterested. Uther is always interested. He figures he must, as he is but one half.

A man calls to him, his eyes gold and his smile like quicksilver. Uther likes him, but cannot place why. He is selling reed dolls and ripe apples. The man offers him one, offering something more with his voice.

"A fortune for you, sire, if you grace me with your name."

Uther laughed, taking the apple offered and regarding the merchant with open curiosity, cocking his head as he leaned forward. His name was known, such a strange thing to ask for.

"My name is Uther." He replied, taking a bite from the fruit. "And you, Merchant?"

"Your name is payment enough for the fortune, sire, not my own." The man replied, producing a handful of bones from a bag on his belt. Casting them down onto the cloth before him he hummed, reading the intricate scratchings on their surface with a creased brow. "Truly a remarkable destiny you shoulder, sire. I have yet to see one as bright as this."

A scream rent the air, Uther startling and dropping the apple as recognition dawned, the boy tearing away and pushing through the peasantry, finding a horror awaiting him.

Constans knelt in the middle of the abandoned junction, onlookers scrambling away still as Uther approached.

His brother was beneath him, blood everywhere.

Uther screamed as Constans continued to bring the knife down upon his twin.

***

The Merchant was imprisoned and Constans was executed. Uther oversaw it himself.

The emptiness Uther felt pained him. He wanted to die. He wanted to be with Aurelianus.

Gaius tended to him as best he could, the young physician telling his nursemaid to see that he ate his meals and drank enough.

A day later Uther woke up with the Merchant sitting on the end of his bed, smiling at him as he'd done the day they'd met.

Uther was only a child but he tried to strangle the man anyway.

The man didn't even flinch, instead patting his head and pushing him back gently by the chest, Uther's hands falling away uselessly.

"It's all right, deary... Grieving is natural... But I am not the one to blame." He started, Uther finding with each word he lost any further ill will. There was something about the man that made him feel calm, content even.

"Now your Father..." He hummed, making Uther's brow furrow. His Father?

"Your Father instigated this. He wanted the succession to sort itself out." The man laid out, smoothing the blanket beside his hip as though to provide a visual representation. "Now... There is only you. Someone small, lonely, and vulnerable he can mold into a new version of himself. A perfect legacy."

Uther nodded, staring at the blankets as the emptiness grew inside him, gnawing at his rib-cage and threatening to eat up his heart.

"You don't want that." The man stated, tone gentle as Uther looked back up. "Of course you don't... Don't you think he should pay for his crimes instead of getting his way?"

Uther nodded again. Of course justice should be served. Aurelianus deserved so much more than that.

"...your future is still so bright, Pendragon." The man murmured, reaching out and petting his head again. The name he addressed him with puzzled him, but after a moment's consideration Uther found he liked it. It separated him from his Father- The Murderer. It severed the tie perfectly.

"Help me." Uther commanded, hand snapping up and grabbing the man's wrist, stopping the comforting gesture from continuing. He was this man's better, he would not be patronized while he dealt with these matters.

"Let's make a deal..." The man prompted, drawing his hand away before offering it again as the beginning of a handshake. "Allow me to work as I need, do as I say, and I will be your most faithful servant."

"Does such a deal include your name?" The words tumbled from his mouth before he realized it, gritting his teeth as he refused to take them back.

The man smiled. "Perhaps."

With that affirmation Uther placed his hand in his, shaking it. "Then we have a deal."

"Wyllt."

"What?"

"Wyllt." The man repeated, their handshake breaking as his appearance shifted, his skin turning to gold before Uther's eyes. "My name. Call it when you have need of me and I will come."

In a sudden billow of colored smoke he disappeared, Uther laying back in his bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for his nursemaid to come wake him up. The beginnings of plans were forming in his mind, designs that would grow and build grand things. Bright, beautiful things... surely.

Uther would become the greatest King ever known. He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Listen to the Myths and Legends podcast, you'll find out about Constans. Not that he did anything like that but I'm sure he would've wanted to if he was crazy enough.


	4. The Dragon Comet

Uther and Wyllt build a Kingdom worthy of the tales of old.

They're able to regain much ground that Constantine had lost in old skirmishes with the other petty kings, Uther cutting down Vortigern and Hengist himself to begin the golden era Wyllt had foresaw.

Despite all of Wyllt's good advice Uther was beginning to chafe, feeling stifled at times by the man's- the sorcerer's directions. He wanted something for himself, something Wyllt did not set him toward.

He wanted Ygraine.

After finding out how Wyllt had been angling Vivienne toward him (all the way to the bedroom, even) Uther had become forcibly disinterested with the beautiful, dark haired woman, seeking out instead her exact opposite.

Ygraine could not have been a better candidate if Uther had called her into being, the woman's golden skin and hair paired with her seafoam colored eyes consuming him with a kind of fire he barely understood.

Uther bent over backwards to seek her out in his own way, going so far as to seduce Gorlois to find a place in their bed.

It helped that Gorlois was also not of Wyllt's designs. Each time they met Uther felt a joy he could not quite describe, the passion only escalating because of it.

In time he became a regular fixture of their bedchamber, and Uther knew it was only a matter of time before Ygraine's heart also accepted him.

He was not wrong. She loved him as fiercely as Gorlois did and the three of them became inseparable.

When Vivienne came to him months later, heavy with child, Uther was at a loss. He cared for her deeply, but the knowledge of how the strings had been pulled to create what grew within her only soured it's presence.

He refused to marry her, and it seemed to pay him for his rebellion making his first love die in childbirth, leaving behind a baby girl.

Holding her made Uther feel like he might crumble to dust from the agony, her eyes the same green as her mother's.

Ygraine and Gorlois did their best to comfort him.

Wyllt noticed.

Mysteriously Gorlois died on the way back from a simple patrol.

Ygraine was found collapsed at the bottom of a flight of stairs days later. Uther thanked every deity he knew that she survived, Gaius' newfound scientific remedies healing her even better than magic had been.

Uther would not let this lay.

He brought the Knights against him, sending Ygraine into hiding with his infant daughter, not wanting any leverage against him left exposed.

"Today, Wyllt, is the day we end our association." Uther started, pointing his sword at the gold skinned man before him. The smile that Uther had always found strange comfort in making the hair on the back of his neck raise when it appeared. "You are under arrest for the murder of Sir Gorlois and the attempted murder of his widow."

"Well, deary, I think you're forgetting part of our deal." Wyllt replied. "I'm the one who tells _you_ what to do."

"It ends now." Uther bit out, advancing, his men close behind. Wyllt only laughed.

"As you say." He replied, eyes suddenly bright with magic. "But no one said it ends easy."

The gold skinned man suddenly burst into flame, growing larger and larger till he was a monstrous dragon, the likes of which Uther had only glimpsed in visiting the Dragonkin's lands to treat.

Wyllt escaped that day, flying off North leaving Uther to stew upon his manipulations.

Months later when Ygraine gave birth and died Uther found his mind made up, watching the pyre of the priestess that had assisted burning down in the courtyard.

Magic was evil. Ygraine must be avenged.

Reports said that Wyllt had kept his golden dragon guise and found refuge with the Dragonkin. They would have to be first.

Pacing his chambers he came to stand over Morgana's bassinet, the girl just barely a year old and still yet undeclared as his own.

Looking toward the other bassinet reality suddenly cemented, long forgotten screams echoing in his ears.

It would have to remain that way... There could only be one Pendragon heir, the line of succession left in it's most uncomplicated state.

He would tell her... He would tell her that she was Gorlois' daughter. That she was only his ward but that he still loved her dearly. After all, she was what was left of a dear friend.

She would never need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is in reference to this: "On the way to the battle, he sees a comet in the shape of a dragon, which Merlin interprets as presaging Aurelius's death and Uther's glorious future."


	5. The Fall Of Caer Ddraig

Uther holds him as a friend might've in his final moments.

Uther is not a friend now, and it is not his time.

Regardless of what Uther will think after this, Balinor will survive.

"What've you become?" He asks, breathing labored. He's certain his ribs are broken, the fall from Ancalagon's airborne death throes a long one. He knows he's bleeding mightily from his head as well, the blood streaming down over his closed left eye.

Uther looks like he hasn't slept in years, his face drawn. A shadow of the man he'd fought beside and signed a treaty with.

When he speaks his voice is soft, whatever plagues him making it shake. "I could ask you the same."

Balinor coughs, gripping Uther's arm hard as his body shakes with it. "We were allies."

"You sheltered the beast." Uther bit out, eyes going hard. "The murdering abomination. You should've listened to reason."

"You wanted to kill my kin!" He wheezes through grit teeth, fingertips digging in. "And now you have!"

Uther laughed, the sound hair raising. "Kin..." He muttered, shaking his head with a look of disgust.

"Those who will not obey the laws will be see justice served." The King's tone was like ice washing over him. Balinor wanted to tear out his throat, his magic flaring as he glared up at the man. There was not enough to do harm and it soothed and pooled back inside him, beginning it's healing work.

"Leave me. Let me die in peace." He grunted, sagging in Uther's grip, his eyelids heavy.

At least Uther allowed him that much, laying him back gently, in a moment of what Balinor could only assume pure madness kissing the Dragonlord on the forehead.

"Rest in peace." Uther said as he stood, Balinor shutting his eyes finally so he wouldn't have to see him go.

That was not his friend.

That was a tyrant wearing his skin.

***

When Balinor woke next the fires had died away. His wounds were mostly healed, save for the final few ribs. Taking some wood from the rubble he hobbled away, leaning heavily upon it, unseeing as he passed over all others who had fallen, Dragonkin and Dragon alike.

The only comfort he could take was that he could feel the presence of Merlin somewhere in the distance, his magic like a beacon burning bright on the horizon.

Balinor headed in the opposite direction, hoping to the Goddesses that he might someday see his family again.

For now there was work to be done.


	6. The Ward

Morgana loved her guardian, and for that she suppressed her magic.

Each day it called out to her, longingly squirming beneath her skin, begging to be used, crying out for a simple purpose.

Morgana loved the King, and for that she would not let it stray. She could not, for even a ward of the Royal Household was not exempt from Camelot's laws.

It was only when the nightmares began to start that she wondered at finding an outlet. Somewhere where she might be able to get things out of her system.

When she consulted the Court Physician in carefully considered words she found his face stony and hard, the man directing her to continue to take her medicine. That it would be the cure to what ailed her.

Deep down she knew this sickness of the mind would not abate. The wriggling under her skin told her as much.

At first it was just little things, deep in the dark of night when she'd sent Guinevere on home, promising that the draft would keep her terrors away. Just the lighting of a candle, or the pulling things from the table through the air to her. Things she did not know the words for but still could do.

Things that she'd wanted to do all along.

It felt so good to do it, like stretching over tight muscles after sitting for far too long.

She couldn't understand how the King could outlaw such a natural thing. It was like outlawing walking.

Or at least that's what it felt like for her. Perhaps it was not so natural in others.

Morgana loved Uther, he had taken her in when she had had no one and he cared for her as though she was his own daughter. She wanted to be his daughter desperately, deep down. But with this power, something she had had since she could remember... Well she could not sit as quietly by as she once had.

They fight like dogs, or at least it feels like it the more they do it, snapping at each other harshly across the table over issue after issue, Uther's stances unwavering despite her reasonable refutation of his points.

Arthur the day after remarked how it was almost as though they really were Father and Daughter and she felt both guilty and elated, his expression mostly neutral save for the sad look in his eyes. Arthur's feelings were no secret to her despite what he might think, and she often wondered after that if he felt as though their situations were reversed.

Uther held Arthur generally at arm's length despite him being his sole heir, engaging far more with Morgana about daily life than he did with his own son, the most given to the young man what Morgana would call a debriefing mixed with stilted conversation. She couldn't even recall if he'd ever given Arthur praise aside from the formalities required of him before the court when Arthur won some arranged skirmish.

Morgana loved Uther, but she was beginning to see him for who he was.

So she began to practice her magic more often, trying anything she could think of to stretch it farther and farther. She found that she was almost good at it.

It didn't stop the night terrors, though, and when Gaius fell ill she found that she couldn't handle being left alone while she waited for him to get better.

Guinevere started sleeping with her thereafter. It didn't stop for a long while. For whatever reason her presence seemed to soothe whatever it was that plagued her at night.

That was... Until the Witch came to Camelot.

Things only spiraled beyond her control from there, even Gaius' drafts no longer sending away the inflammatory images. It felt like she was losing her mind for a time, avoiding all practice with her powers because of how little energy she had.

Respite came unexpectedly when a woman came to court, challenging Arthur and then subsequently besting him. She found herself fascinated by her, and finally after much trepidation she crept down to the lady knight's chambers.

The woman was waiting for her.


	7. The Red Witch

Morgause recognized her existence had always been a divisive one, the Court Sorcerer carefully urging her parents with his honey dipped endearments to send her to the priestesses when she was just a child, her magic so powerful the priestesses barely knew what to do with her, and their aggravation and jealousy over everything about her making it hard to focus. She accepted the hardships for what they were and kept to her studies dutifully.

Her parents visited often despite the reproach they saw from her elders, the Sorceresses housed on the Isle of the Blessed grumbling and groaning about the Lord and Lady openly.

She loved her Mother and Father dearly. Even more than she loved her magic.

She felt their deaths keenly despite the urging of the High Priestesses to give up such attachment. Her grief could not be swayed. There was always someone at fault, and she would have her price for this.

***

The lady knight turned out to be much more than an impressive, imposing figure.

As it turned out she was Morgana's elder sister of all things.

Over ten years her senior, Morgause had come looking for her when word had reached her in Essetir about Gorlois' remaining heir. She failed, though, to explain as to why she was in Essetir in the first place, nor why they had never met.

Despite the mysticism Morgana couldn't restrain the glee it caused in her, the feeling of loneliness that had been stalking her abating for the moment with this newfound knowledge. A sister. Kin to truly call her own.

***

A sister.

Arthur was truly not the only remnant of Ygraine after all.

He had no idea what to think, standing with his arms clasped about the specter-made-solid, the flowery scent of his mother tugging at the corners of his mind, making him tremble with it's intensity. She held him tight, carding her fingers through his hair, letting go a little sob as she pulled back to look at him, cupping his cheek.

His sister- the High Priestess Morgause -stood watching them both quietly, Arthur still able to see her in his periphery as he looked down at their mother's tearful face, flushed pink with her sorrow as tears continued to tread their way down. "Oh Arthur..."

His vision clouded completely with tears of his own, the Prince overwhelmed and only able to bury his face against her hair, inhaling deeply and praying that this moment would last.

***

The conflict she has foreseen will be great if she does not act.

The paths laid out before her are narrow and twisting, making her heart hammer and her brow bead, the priestess pushing her magic further and further, trying to read the best way.

She can have both, surely. Strike at his heart, but keep the girl safe as well. She must be able.

Morgause could have it all if she only could find the right path.

Uther Pendragon will pay.

***

He does not die quietly.

A man before his makers he hangs his head and holds his daughter a final time, smiling.

It makes her blood boil.

Morgana is quiet, the once dimly glowing beating heart in her hands nothing but ashes.

Morgause doesn't know what else to do. She finds herself peeling the dead man from her sister, separating them with some difficulty. Morgana doesn't move, nor does she speak. She just sits with her palms full of ash, Morgause whisking them both away with the sounds of siege roaring up the hallway.

***

Arthur is crowned King and Morgause's stomach roils.

The path is slipping from her grasp as her brother ascends to the throne, her so-called sister still abed with grief.

The waves of disaster are lapping at her heels, and panic is upon her, it's talons digging deep.

She can hear the dragon's laugh, the sound piercing time and space solely to rattle her bones. She must recover. She _must_ hurry.

She cannot fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear:  
> Morgause is Gorlois & Ygraine's daughter.  
> Morgana is claimed to be Gorlois & Vivienne's, but is in actuality Uther & Vivienne's.  
> Via misinformation Morgause thinks that Morgana is her (illegitimate) sibling.
> 
> I'm very tired and just wanted to make sure this wasn't super confusing. I shifted relations back so Morgause has her proper parentage.


	8. The Eternal

Merlin frets his first months in his new home. He worries for his mother and what she might be subject to without him. He wishes she'd made the trip as well.

His worries soon turn more localized, impending dangers around every corner in the employ of the Crown Prince. It's no wonder with a man like Uther on the throne that all he loves is constantly in danger. He says as much to Gaius.

Gaius hums and haws over it like a tired goat and Merlin wonders often what Gaius sees in such a man. He's simultaneously blind to his faults and hyper aware of them, defensive and yet... And yet...

It is a dangerous thing to feel for another person.

He figures his silent criticisms are what garnered such karma, the Dragon's laughter rattling around in his mind as he does his duties day after day, a supposed Destiny laid upon him to raise up the Future King of Albion.

He hardly wanted such a thing. Arthur was so...

He eventually grew to see why, the potential that lurked beneath the man's hardened exterior staggering him with every glimpse. There was goodness and a just nature brewing in those depths that not even Uther could taint with his fear and hate.

It's a common disaster, love is. Beating intense and wild in his chest every time he looks at the blonde haired man. A thing he dared not confess to another soul lest the secret go too far from him. This could not come out, not whilst other secrets lingered ahead of them.

That fled at the first true opportunity, the pair of them alone and Arthur injured deeply. Merlin was afraid. When he thought Arthur sleeping deeply he pushed his magic into the wound, willing the flesh to mend faster.

Arthur gasped sharply, very much awake.

Much had passed unsaid between them. Understood but not spoken. The discussion is not about his abilities, or where his allegiances lie.

"Why have you chosen to stay?" Was what he is asked instead, the Prince tired and warm looking, making Merlin yearn to simply hold him despite the matters at hand.

"...for you." Merlin finds himself saying to his eternal mortification, feeling simultaneously so very close and so far from Arthur as they sit close together in the small clearing, blood still staining the shoulder of Arthur's tunic. "I see... the future when I look at you."

He takes a shaky breath in, smiling weakly. "It's bright."

And by some miracle it is not a lie.

The Dragon may have told him about the plans that supposedly have been set out for him but he sees it now, why Arthur is important, and it's not some arbitrary aligning of the stars or simple will of the Fates. Arthur is good, and he could believe in the goodness of men.

Arthur seems dumbfounded by that, staring at him for a few lingering moments before letting out a little, disbelieving laugh.

Eventually there is a lengthier, more detailed discussion. Merlin has to forfeit all of what he's held back, happy to finally get it all out in the open after all the time he's spent wishing he could do just that.

Time passes, the strange magnetism grows, fluctuates, and through Uther's rule into Arthur's there's something between them. Neither of them act. Of course it's a mistake. They both think it's enough just to be so close.

Till the council begins to push and prod for a Queen, someone who can yield a proper heir.

Arthur caves and asks for an unexpected hand regardless of what others might think, Guinevere being crowned by him personally. It's a marriage of convenience but with affection, and it cuts Merlin deeply regardless.

But then comes a larger problem...

The heirless King remains heirless.


	9. Fate

The solution comes from Merlin after the fugue of depression has hung over the King and Queen's heads for more than a season, his research bringing him a work around of a kind that would not splinter their marriage by Arthur taking on a mistress. At least... not technically.

Merlin referred to it gently as "surrogacy" when he began, fidgeting awkwardly as Guinevere and Arthur watched him with twin expressions of confusion. Upon elaborating the idea he was met with mixed feelings, both of his friends more worried over the cost it would take from him than for the Kingdom itself.

The supposed surrogacy was Merlin offering to carry the child himself, the magic that he'd stumbled upon a concept of completely changing one's shape if the warlock or witch were strong enough.

And who but Emrys would be more perfect for the feat?

He assures them it's safe, that such magic is mighty, but no toll would be asked, Life and Death not being toyed with as other magics did. All it would require was for both of them to be fertile, just how things usually worked.

They refused him for a week before Guinevere suddenly had a change of heart, always being the more reasonable of the two. Sometime between that day and the week next she must've worked on the King, Arthur suddenly appearing in the doorway to Merlin's tower abode looking awkward and unsure.

"How can you offer this?" The King asked, sounding choked up as Merlin pressed the door shut and pushed him back against the wood, as the warlock stood close to him, silently considering the question. The taller man reached out and ran a gentle hand down the side of Arthur's throat, his thumb brushing over the rise in the middle.

"I see the future when I look at you." Merlin replied, smile small and seemingly coy as he looked at his friend with nothing but affection. "It's bright."

That simple truth, a call back in itself to that fateful day in the woods, was what swayed Arthur entirely, giving himself over into Merlin's care as the man seamlessly transformed.

***

When Merlin can't keep her breakfast down it's a sure sign of things to come, Gaius fretting for weeks over her with an unexpected case of anxiety. For a man who had tended to more than a few pregnant women in his time when it came to Merlin he was overly concerned, the caliber of magic that the warlock had utilized in the first place worrying him greatly.

But for all intents and purposes Merlin felt fine. The only problem was her heart every now and again, when she caught Arthur considering her with an expression that spoke too openly. He and Guinevere had afforded her every consideration and took great care to make sure their generous friend got what she needed in the months there after and then some, Merlin going so far as to tease the pair of them by calling them "doting admirers".

Guinevere laughed. Arthur didn't.

***

Merlin is six months along when the news comes to the citadel that Morgana is planning something devastating. Something that will consume Camelot entirely, something so large that it was almost impossible to comprehend. Was it really possible?

And the words came from her own mouth, the witch having sent an apparition of herself to be the messenger.

The warlock smites it out of spite with a burst of enraged magic, clutching her stomach protectively as her mind races. The babe in her belly squirms, her anxiety spiking higher as she considers the uncertain future that lays in wait for it.

"Kilgharrah." She breathes, voice strangled by her fear.

"Merlin?" Arthur calls, apparently having been trying to get her attention all along, the King suddenly standing beside her and grasping her shoulder. "Merlin are you all right?"

"Kilgharrah!" She roars out, ignoring the question and the King entirely as she waits for a response.

A second later he appears with the sound of wind through wings, his crooked smile and glittering skin belying how inhuman he really was. 

"You called?"


	10. Prices

Kilgharrah offers them a dim glimmer of hope, his almost gleeful replies to the King and Court Sorcerer's questioning amounting to little more than a chance. Merlin had always had a sinking feeling that the dragon had a shaken mind, but his giddy delivery only confirmed it.

"You must beat her at her own game, little warlock." He stated with a flourish, eyes wild. "Maintain your memories and wait for your daughter to fulfill her destiny."

Arthur's quiet intake of breath at the reveal of their child's gender only tripped him up for a few seconds, Merlin's tone growling as she pressed the dragon in human form for more. "Why only us?"

"Well there will be hardly room inside the thing for more than you and the babe." Kilgharrah chuckled, waving his hands and conjuring and image before the court. "You must take the eldest tree in the garden of Gedref and fashion it into your very own hiding spot."

"Hiding spot!? You just said I had to beat her-"

"At her own game. Only this special spot will be immune to the magic she will cast. Only _this_ place can ferry you to the land beyond unchanged by this curse."

Merlin shut her eyes, the baby squirming inside again as her agitation only grew. She couldn't leave Arthur behind. Not her King.

"We will send word to Gedref, ask them for their aid. I'm certain Anhora will be willing." Arthur suddenly spoke, his hand encircling Merlin's wrist and giving it a comforting squeeze. "Surely there is more we can do to try and combat what Morgana has in store."

For whatever reason Kilgharrah laughed openly at them, flashing his white, sharp teeth as he dismissed the image he'd produced. "Now, about my price..."

Merlin narrowed her eyes, looking up from where she'd been staring at Arthur's hand to glare at Kilgharrah. "Isn't it enough that we'll be doing you a favor by even working against her? You'll be in as much trouble as we will!"

The dragon just laughed again.

"That's. Not. How. This. Works." He outlined, expression slowly sliding toward a more aggressive spectrum than Merlin had ever seen on him, the hair on her arms standing on end. "Everything has a price, mine is..."

He paused, smile returning but carrying a certain edge to it. "For this information and then-some all I need to hear... is the name of your baby girl."

"What is the then-some?" The twist in Merlin's gut did not make him any keener to give it away.

"Why I can give you the exact span of time that will have to pass for your ickle darling thing to finally save you all." Kilgharrah purred, waving both his hands in a sort of "tada" motion. "That way you won't be whiling away the hours looking over your little one wondering when that magic will happen."

Merlin swallowed hard, looking to Arthur. Both the King and Queen looked back, Guinevere so far having declined from participating, the fear on her face evident. She was far out of her depth with this, as were they all.

The future had always been Morgana's sort of thing.

"Tell us. Then you may hear it." Arthur suddenly said slowly, Merlin nodding a little back as they turned back to the dragon. The golden skinned man smiled broadly, eyes glittering with delight as he dropped forward in sort of mock bow, arm arcing wide as he came back up.

"From the moment that she is settled inside the tree thirty years must pass. Then, and only then, will she begin her journey, lead there by the mouths of babes."

***

The eldest tree of Gedref was not the only thing Anhora came to Camelot bearing.

It was strange to think that another dragon might become involved in such matters, Merlin holding the egg to her chest as she wondered at the situation. She couldn't imagine subjecting yet another living thing to this uncertainty but Anhora and and his brethren had urged that calling the dragon into the world would only be a benefit.

Magic welling up in her throat Merlin let her senses be consumed by the little used power, her tongue curling around the dragon's name as she summoned it from it's sleep inside the shell, movement starting before the exterior began to crack.

When the white head poked through Anhora smiled, Merlin's heart clenching at the sight of the little dragon.

"A white dragon bodes well for the future of Albion, Emrys... Perhaps there is more than a mere glimmer in the dark."


	11. Hyacinths

A motorcyclist whips by the shop as Chelsea pulls another vase from it's box, biting her lip as she carefully unwrapped the cray paper that was wound around it. She could not afford another broken piece this week, she was barely scraping by as it was this month.

The bell jingled as the door opened, a brief gust of cold air winding it's way through and biting at the florist's prominent ears, the woman raising her dark haired head as she called out to her customer. "I'll be with you in just a moment!"

"Don't worry, I'm already back here." Chirped a tiny voice, making Chelsea jerk around to find the corresponding tiny blonde it belonged to.

"Anna... what're you doing here?" She started, setting the pot aside with a grimace as she prepared her best adult voice. "You know your mother doesn't want you on this side of town."

"What she doesn't know can't hurt her." Anna replied simply, tossing her wavy hair over her shoulder as she looked around the backroom. "Do you have any hyacinths??"

Furrowing her brow the florist tilted her head at the odd request. "Not exactly in season... But sure. What for?"

"For Sister Rosalyn." The child replied, gripping the straps of her school bag, puffing out her chest a bit as she squared her shoulders. "As a thank you."

"You're saying thank you with 'I'm sorry' flowers?" Chelsea pressed, stepping around the little girl and heading for the the cold case, trying to remember which side she'd put the little used things on. Somehow she always ended up with them at least once a month despite repeatedly telling her supplier that they weren't necessary. The man never seemed to know how they'd gotten there. Daft old codger.

Anna pursed her lips at being called out in such a manner, wrinkling her nose and looking terribly like her mother for it. A regular miniature madam mayor. "They're Sister Rosalyn's favorite. I'm not playing around with the language today!"

Chelsea raised a brow skeptically as she ducked into the case, withholding her comment on how Anna's little voice still trembled a little when she lied. "So what has she done to curry such a favor from you?"

"She's gave me a nice book." The little girl outlined carefully, pulling on the straps of her bag as she watched Chelsea close the case and cross the floor to her work counter. "I've got money to pay with this time."

Chelsea just snorted, rolling her eyes a little bit as she reached forward, ignoring the brief discomfort as her bra cut into her rib cage. Damn ill-fitting thing. "As if I'd make my friends pay."

"But you need it!" Anna retorted, stomping her feet a bit. "You told me Winter is hard!"

"Not hard enough that I need to take my friend's money. It's my present to you." The florist replied, sticking her tongue out at the little girl and laughing as the tiny blonde raspberried back at her. Had she grown another inch? It seemed that she would never stop.

Sometimes she felt like Anna was the only thing changing in this miserable little city.

Quickly finishing up cutting and arranging the hyacinths Chelsea turned and offered the small arrangement to Anna, the girl frowning deeply before taking the vase.

"I'm paying next time. No getting out of it, okay?"

"Okay." Chelsea chuckled, patting her head gently. "Better hurry, don't want to be late for school now do you?"

Huffing at the treatment Anna just bobbed her head, eyeballing the florist briefly before turning to head back out the door. "Have a good day Chels!"

"You too."

The bell rang again, signaling her departure, the florist's shoulders slumping a bit as she let go a tiny sigh, rubbing at where the underwire had poked her before.

It was going to be one of those days, she just knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I finally wrote a real scene with Anna. You're a real character now, kid! You're not just an idle summary mention!


End file.
